Flash design of an elephant with black ornate patterning and watercolour splashes in pink, yellow and teal, with a feather above and the words you are not alone.

Watercolour elephant with feather

Mixed · Flash

A drawing of an elephant facing the viewer, its body filled with black ornamental patterns and small geometric shapes. Watercolour splashes in pink, orange, yellow and teal sit behind and through the figure, and a feather in matching colours hangs above it. Handwritten script reading you are not alone runs down the left side of the elephant.

Elephant Feather Watercolour Splatter Script Quote

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last northbound had gone through Hallow Bridge at twenty past eleven, and Margit Doyle was still standing under the canopy with the lost-property tin in her hands when the rain started properly. Someone had left a sketchbook on bench four. She opened it only to find a name on the flyleaf, and the name had been crossed out.

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Inside were pages of ink animals, every body packed with tiny black marks like the stitching on a Sunday coat. Then came a watercolour page where the colours had run as though someone had tipped a jar of paint into a puddle. The last drawing was an elephant turned to face the viewer, its body full of geometric shapes, pink and orange blooming through it where the paper had drunk the wash. Beside it, in pencil, a line she copied onto the back of a ticket: you are not alone.

She rang the number on the inside cover at seven the next morning. A man answered from a hospital corridor in Shrewsbury, sounding as though he had not slept, and said the sketchbook belonged to his sister, who had gone travelling and stopped answering her phone. Margit told him where it was. He was quiet for so long she thought the line had dropped. Then he asked her to keep it dry.

She did. Each evening she propped it on the ticket office sill where the heater could reach it, and each morning a loose feather lay on the open page, teal and green at the tip, as if something was sending its answers back one pale quill at a time. She never learned who had left them. The eleven-fifteen came in on time, and she kept the feathers in the drawer with the spare keys.